


Negative Space

by Milo



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Gen, Parent-Child Relationship, Self-Discovery, With a slice of fantasy elements mixed in
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2018-08-18 20:26:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8174923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milo/pseuds/Milo
Summary: Being someone from two different worlds leaves one estranged in both. And sometimes it's hard to tell which one is better to focus on.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ScriptedScarlet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScriptedScarlet/gifts).



She could have had any studio in the world if she’d wanted, with Doflamingo offering to spare no expense. An apartment in a bustling city, a house on a tropical island, or perhaps even a lovely villa in a warm country.

But it was a little ramshackle beach cottage by some rocky sea that captivated her the most. It was uneven and seemed to be cobbled together from several different houses; sections of red, blue, yellow, and green further added to the atmosphere. But it was quaint and unique, and Jora loved it. 

In the months that followed the move-in, the place quickly became a mess of art supplies. Paint splattered on the walls and floors, brushes made up half of every cup of pens, and the coffee maker was situated just shy of the many, many cups of paint water--which had been a problem on multiple occasions. The nearby landmarks and animals provided a host of unique topics for Jora’s paintings. It wasn’t long before the house became filled with art.

The downside of living by the sea meant that storms were a force to be reckoned with. And on one grim night in particular, the worst storm in ages happened to hit.

The shack proved hardy against the wind and rain, taking one beating after the next without so much as a creak. From one of the porthole windows, Jora watched as the sea itself seemed to rise up and attack the land in blind fury. And despite the situation, she couldn’t help but want to paint. 

Eventually the storm passed, as all things did, and when the skies cleared Jora set foot outside to examine the damage. A few trees were downed and the yard was a bit of a mess, but it was a bit inspiring. Perhaps she’d do a still life of the more unusual groupings of storm damage a little later.

A shrill cry from the beach interrupted her search. The noise didn’t sound like a seagull or like any animal she’d seen around, which prompted her to investigate. 

Due to the sheer drop from the house to the rocky shore, she’d had a special staircase installed for trips down to the beach. Halfway down the steps something in the water caught her eye. She had to stare for a few minutes until she realized exactly what she was looking at; a naked infant was sitting in the surf among the debris, splashing and screaming with joy.

Jora quickened her pace and hurried along the beach. The baby seemed unaffected by the chill of the water. When he noticed Jora, he let out another shriek of joy and teached out to her, in the process toppling forward into the water. She quickly looked around for any sign of a parent or caretaker. The beach seemed devoid of life save for the two of them. 

It...certainly wouldn’t do to just leave him in the cold water, would it? She reached down to the little blond boy and scooped him up.

“Now how did you get out here?” She asked the little boy. “Where are your parents?”

The infant did nothing but grin, revealing a set of tiny pointed teeth lining his gums. Jora let out a tiny gasp of surprise and brought a hand to her mouth. He certainly was quite the unusual little boy.

“My, don’t you have quite the charming smile,” Jora said. 

The infant seemed content to be held, showing no signs of wanting to be put down. He grabbed a tiny fistful of Jora’s shirt.

Jora walked along the beach, noting the interesting debris. Among the usual foamy ocean residue were bits of wood and long strands of kelp. There were crabs, dead fish, and the occasional plastic bottle. She searched for anything that might clue her in to where the child’s parents were. But the beach was empty.

The baby cooed. She looked to him. The boy was looking out at the sea and grasping a tiny fist at the waves. A loud splash caught her attention. Whatever it was disappeared before Jora could see it. 

The wind swept through the beach, blowing the loose plants and plastic along the wet sand. She couldn’t just stand out there all day. There was plenty of work still to be done. She cast one final gaze out at the beach before she headed back to the steps.

 

* * *

 

Jora’s large backyard had been converted into a space for outdoor sculptures, landscaping, and had a large number of chairs for whenever Doflamingo brought the rest of the family over for a visit. But Jora purposefully left a little corner free to run a clothesline. The house wasn’t large enough to fit the dryer, but that was just fine. She took clothes and bedding from the washer straight to the outdoors, where the wind quickly blew them dry. 

She’d set Dellinger out on the cobblestone porch near to the rest of the family while she set to work. Three small plastic cups of fingerpaint were placed around a large piece of cardboard that had a large strip of white painting paper on it. Dellinger was happily smearing around colors and a bit of dirt he’d accidentally set his hand in.

From the doorway, Machvise appeared. He carried the entire basket of laundry on his shoulder with a grin on his face. Jora paused after laying a sheet over the line.

“Would the lovely lady like a helping hand-iin?” Machvise asked.

“Who are you calling a natural model?” Jora said.

“Nihihihi…If only I had a camera right now, eh?” 

He set the basket down and pulled out a few of Dellinger’s wet onesies. He shook them out lightly and handed them to Jora, who neatly hooked them up on the line one-by-one. Dellinger smacked three more red handprints onto the paper. Then he withdrew his hand and admired his creation with two stubby paint-coated fingers in his mouth. Machvise watched him with a small frown.

“Say, Jora,” He spoke up. “You sure it’s alright to let the kid eat that-iin?”

“Oh, it’s perfectly safe,” Jora assured him. “It’s edible finger paint--I made it myself.”

As Dellinger got little smears of paint on his shark shirt, Jora smiled at him. Already he was becoming quite the artist. Baby 5 hurried over to him and sat down with her legs in a pretzel shape. She rested her chin in her hands as she looked over the art that Dellinger had created.

“What’re you making, Dellybean?” She asked. 

Dellinger looked at her for a long moment before he dipped his hand in the green paint and smeared it in wide circles. 

“I ‘unno yet,” he muttered.

“Can I paint too, Jora?” Baby 5 asked.

Jora looked away from the laundry to smile at her. “Of course you can, dear,” she said. “There should be a set of watercolors in the bin with the blue lid over in the kitchen. And there’s plenty of paper in the other room.”

Baby 5 let out an excited squeak. She quickly jumped up and rushed into the house, breezing past Gladius, who raised his drink over her head. Then, with an annoyed sigh, he went and took his seat next to Pica. Doflamingo regarded Dellinger with a thoughtful look from his lawn chair. He scratched his chin.

“Those horns on his head...They’re not for show, are they?” He said. “Fufufu...You’ve adopted quite the interesting toddler, Jora.”

“They’re lovely, aren’t they?” She replied, stringing up one of her nicer tops. “I noticed them pop up only a couple months ago.”

“And still no word from his parents?” Jora went silent for a moment before she nodded. Doflamingo grinned widely and laid back in his chair. He swirled the wine in his glass. “Suppose that means you get to keep him then, huh?”

“A baby with horns and shark teeth,” Gladius mused. “Fits right in with this godforsaken freak family.”

Trebol barely covered his mouth and nose in time for a loud sneeze. As he pulled his hand away, strings of snot stuck to it. Diamante jammed a box of tissues at him. Trebol sniffled, accepted the box, and wiped his hand clean. Doflamingo frowned a bit but said nothing. He turned and looked out at the cliff, noting how blue the ocean seemed to be today.

The wind swept through the area, knocking over Dellinger’s cup of blue paint. He let out a quiet, “Oh.” 

Jora, hands filled with shirts, looked at the spilled paint as it leaked out onto the walkway. Machvise lifted the clothes from her hands and gestured for her to go and give him a hand. Her heels clacked against the stone and she lifted the cup in one swift movement. It was nearly empty.

“What a shame,” Jora said, shaking her head. Dellinger looked up at her with sad eyes. “Don’t worry, Dellybean, I’ll make you some more.”

Baby 5 returned from the house with a bunch of art supplies and an old mug filled with cold water. But when she saw what had happened, she immediately put her things on the ground and took the cup from Jora’s hands.

“I can make some more for you!” She announced. “It’s just flour and sugar and water, isn’t it?”

Jora hesitated. “Are you sure?” She asked.

“Mm-hm!” Baby 5 nodded. “I know how to use the stove.”

She scampered away back into the house, humming to herself. So young and already so happy to help everyone around her. 

After Machvise insisted on finishing the laundry for her, Jora decided to pull up the little wooden stool nearby and simply watch Dellinger paint. He moved the used piece of paper aside and pulled a fresh one from Baby 5’s stack. Immediately he painted some broad green strokes along the paper. Then he took the red and spread it around in a way that almost made it look like trees.

Diamante, meanwhile, watched Dellinger with a strange look on his face.

“So what  _ is _ Dellinger anyway?” Diamante asked quietly. “Half-man, half-shark? Some kind of hell mermaid?”

“Those are called sirens,” Pica spoke up softly. 

“Whatever. You think they left Dellinger there to die on that beach?” Diamante asked, eyeing the toddler as he painted more green on his picture, blissfully unaware that the adults were talking about him. “It’s already been so long and nobody’s come for him. Maybe there’s something wrong with him.”

The moment Diamante said it, Jora’s head whipped up with a venomous glare. She stormed over to him and swatted his arm.

“There is  _ nothing _ wrong with him,” she hissed.

“Hey, hey, I didn’t mean it like that,” Diamante said, rubbing his arm. “ _ I _ don’t think there’s anything wrong with him. But maybe his folks did.” He gestured at Dellinger. “He’s a little funny looking for a sea creature, after all.”

Jora looked back at Dellinger, who didn’t seem to hear them. Baby 5 returned quickly with the fresh cup of warm blue finger paint, which Dellinger grabbed from her.

“Whatever he is and wherever he came from, I don’t care,” Jora said, still scowling. She adjusted her glasses. “He’s here now and that’s what matters. I’ll not have you talking about him like that. Especially not where he can hear you.”

Dellinger splayed his now blue hands out and wiped the blue paint over the bottom of the picture. Jora took a few step closer to watch him. It was very abstract and beautiful in its own right--but in a way….it was almost like their home by the sea, with bits of land surrounded by the sea. Dellinger spread more and more blue over the picture until more than half of it was a deep, dark blue.

She’d be lying if she said she had never considered where Dellinger had come from or what he was. Her little baby loved the water enough that even after a bath he’d dive straight back into it. It did make sense that, perhaps, he had come straight from the ocean. But it didn’t matter, not to her. What mattered was whether or not he was happy.

Still, she thought as she continued to watch him happily paint the ocean, one could only wonder if he was indeed happy where he was.


	2. Chapter 1

The front door opened and slammed shut with enough force to feel it reverberate into the other rooms of the house. Jora flinched, instinctively pulling her hand back from the painting she was working on so as to not smear the colors. 

Was that Dellinger? She glanced at the clock. School shouldn’t have let out for a few more hours...

Worry setting in, she placed her pallet and brush aside to hurry toward the front door. There was Dellinger, Dolfamingo at his side with the pink shark backpack that Jora had hand-sewn for her son. Dellinger was holding a slightly melted bag of ice to his right cheek, which had a very prominent set of bruises on it. Jora noticed that there was dried blood in his hair and streaking his forehead. It stained his dress, too.

“Oh!” Jora cried out, bringing a hand to her mouth. “Oh my goodness--Dellinger, are you alright?”

Dellinger looked up at his mother and shrugged. 

“It’s not my blood,” he said as she pulled a pack of wet wipes from her apron pocket and tenderly began wiping the blood from his face.

“What on earth happened?” she asked.

“Principal said he got into a fight,” Doflamingo replied. “Damn brats clearly had no idea what they were getting into when they decided to pick on Dellinger. Fufufu. You should’ve seen how they ended up.”

“Again?” Jora said, putting her hands on her hips. Dellinger winced at her tone and looked away. She sighed. “Dellybean...This can’t keep happening.”

This was the fourth time something like this had happened in only a few months. While Dellinger had been doing rather well in school, and got on decently most of the time, as he got older the strange happenings came with greater frequency. Sometimes he’d lash out, or suddenly and without warning become hostile. The school system was starting to ask questions that Jora plain and simple didn’t have answers to.

Before Jora could say anything else, Dellinger quickly kicked off his shoes and wordlessly slipped away upstairs. His footsteps were a little harsher than usual; Jora shook her head.

“What am I going to do with that boy…”

“Don’t be too hard on him,” Doflamingo said. “He was really guilty the whole way home. I don’t think he meant to hurt anyone.” Jora looked at him and he offered her a sympathetic smile. “He’s a kid, y’know? Just made a mistake and he knows it.”

She nodded, and then turned her gaze toward the stairwell.

 

* * *

 

Dellinger rubbed his gums with his tongue, poking and prodding the serrated teeth that now lined them. It always sucked when they came in. It took weeks for them to fall back out and for his real teeth to come back in. He spat one of the loose teeth out onto the ground and buried his face into his soft shark plush.

_ Again _ . The word rang in his ears. He felt his lip tremble. His mom was disappointed in him, again. But it wasn’t like he could control it. It wasn’t like he’d wanted to lash out.

The door opened slowly, gently, and Dellinger turned away. He knew it was Jora. He knew he was in trouble. Her feet shuffled along the ground and he heard the sound of a plate being set on the nightstand.

“I brought you some dinner,” Jora said softly. When Dellinger didn’t reply, she came to sit on the bed beside him. “What happened, sweetie?”

“They made fun of my dress,” he muttered. “I told them to go away but they wouldn’t leave me alone. And then they punched me and--and I tried to just push them away but…” He clutched the overstuffed shark plushie. “I scratched one of them. I--I drew blood. And then  _ it _ came out.”

They both fell silent a moment. That was how Dellinger had started to describe that change--like it was something, someone entirely different from him. How else could he explain why he went from the bright, lovable boy Jora boasted that he was to a vicious killer intent on tearing the skin of his classmates? 

He bristled as he remembered their screams of pain while he clawed and bit at their arms. Their eyes were wide, stricken with terror like they were looking at a beast instead of a classmate. Yet what scared him the most was when, after they’d run off bawling and clambering for their teacher, he’d licked their blood and bits of skin from his fingernails. And he’d  _ liked _ it. He shuddered. 

No. No, he didn’t like that. He didn't. People weren’t supposed to like that.

“I--I didn’t mean to,” he continued, voice getting quieter. “It was an accident…”

Jora reached out to rub his back. “I know, sweetie, I know.”

After a moment, and some sniffling, he looked up at her, eyes puffy and raw. Her expression was soft and warm.

“...What’s wrong with me, Mom?”

“Absolutely  _ nothing _ is wrong with you,” Jora insisted, eyebrows furrowed.

Dellinger shook his head furiously.

“Look at me!” he exclaimed. “You  _ know _ I’m not the same as other people! Normal people don’t have shark teeth--and--and horns! And they don’t--don’t attack people when they accidentally hurt them!”

He hiccuped and wiped his dribbling nose on the back of his hand. Jora put her arm around his shoulders and pulled him close to her.

“You’re just different, Dellybean,” Jora assured him. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

He was  _ just different _ . That’s what she’d always told him, and always praised him for. She’d told him that he was beautiful and blessed in his uniqueness.

And  _ still _ \--still, they looked forward to it when his sharp teeth fell out to make way for proper, human teeth. Still, he wore a shirt to the beach to cover up the hidden fin on his back and had a special hat made to pretend the horns were merely decoration. Still, they put in so much work to make him normal whenever they went out in public. 

Normal, and not a _ freak _ .

 

* * *

 

His family was pretty good. There was a little bit of everything in all of them. 

Diamante had a thing for cooking with fish--and he always let Dellinger taste test it when he cooked at his house. Pica was quiet, but he never said no to ice cream trips. Baby 5 helped him pick out matching outfits and styled his hair. Lao G was a good place to hide when he got in trouble with Gladius. Machvise had the best jokes, Senor Pink always had a present for him when he came by.

And Trebol never really seemed to care when he got in trouble at school. In fact, when Doflamingo told him, he’d busted a gut laughing.

“Behehehe! Holy shit, wish I could’ve seen that one!” 

Trebol pounded his fist on the arm of the chair he sat in as he let out another cackle. Dellinger shrank a bit, huddling up against the fabric of the couch. Doflamingo cast Trebol a judgmental look with a scowl.

“It’s not funny, Trebol,” he said.

“Oh, c’mon, it’s a  _ little _ funny.”

“You think  _ everything’s _ funny, asshole,” Gladius said, probably rolling his eyes behind his goggles.

“Teeth and claws and everything? Bet they pissed their pants when they saw you racin’ at them!” Trebol elbowed Dellinger a bit too roughly. “Nobody’s ever gonna fuck around with you now, huh?”

“I...I guess,” Dellinger said halfheartedly, rubbing his arm. He eyed Trebol and then looked away. “I wanted to make friends this year, though...”

“Bah, who needs ‘em? Got plenty of friends right here, y’know?”

Trebol gestured out at the living room, at himself, Gladius, and Doflamingo. Dellinger did nothing but smile awkwardly. He loved his uncles, really. He loved all of his family, and he was grateful for them keeping an eye on him while he was suspended, _ again _ , but...he scratched the back of his head. Was it really so wrong to want to fit in a little? To have friends his own age?

“Hey, uncle Doffy?” Dellinger spoke up. Doflamingo hummed in response. “Is it okay if I go down to the water?”

Diamante peered out of the kitchen, a set of tongs in his hands. “Dinner’s almost done, sit your ass down.”

“I won’t be long,” Dellinger said. “Please?”

Diamante looked toward Doflamingo, who shrugged. 

“Alright. You’ve got fifteen minutes, kid,” he said, turning the page of the newspaper in his hands. “Don’t tell your mom we let you go on your own, okay?”

Permission granted, Dellinger was off in a flurry, racing to pull his shoes on and slip out the back door. 

His uncles lived in the city just a short drive from where his house was, having moved closer some time ago from somewhere far, far away. What he loved about the house even more than its size and luxuries was the fact that it had a straight path to the ocean with its own private span of beach. 

He hurried down the steps, tiptoeing past the vegetable garden and weaving through the hedges of the backyard, grin on his face as the salty sea air filled his nose and breezed through his hair. The path down to the water stood before him, a finely crafted cobblestone staircase, lined with flora on both sides of the railing. The familiar crash of waves in the distance came to greet him as he stood at the top of the stairs and looked out at the sea.

It was so friendly, so deep and blue. The air was warm and filled with sea birds. Dellinger inhaled deeply and exhaled.  _ Home _ .

Kicking his shoes aside at the last step, he jumped into the sand with an excited shout, wiggling his toes and squishing the sand between them. He raced around, kicking up sand and shells, laughing as the birds resting on the beach fluttered away when he ran by.

The ocean was chilly, but not too chilly to deter him from wading out up to his knees. The water lapped at his legs, splashing him. He felt his fin jut out from his back and push against his shirt--

His eyes scanned the area. No, this was a private beach. There was no one here to stare at him. No reason to hide. It was okay to be him here. With a grin, he stripped his shirt and tossed it aside in the surf. Fifteen minutes? He could swim plenty within fifteen minutes. He took in a breath, and dunked his head below the surface.

Jora always fretted when he swam by himself, that an accident would happen or he’d be pulled down by the undertow, but to Dellinger, being engulfed by the sea felt even more natural than walking. As if he’d been born to swim. He kicked his legs and continued onward.

Some time ago he’d discovered that he could see just fine in the salty brine, even when the rest of his family couldn’t. The seafloor was clear as day; sunlight dancing in ripples on the sandy dunes of the seabed below, colorful fish darting away as he passed overhead. His hair swayed to and fro in the current. He propelled himself through to the reef, carefully maneuvering around it so as to leave the coral undisturbed.

It was the one place where he didn’t feel so out of place. Where, if but for a moment, he was meant to be, where it was okay to be.

His chest tightened. Air. 

He scrambled to the surface and took in a couple heaving breaths. As he did, he looked out at the vast body of water before him. No limits. It just stretched on and on into the horizon, past the lighthouse of the port, past all of the sailboats and freighters coming and going. How much more was there to see, beyond the simple reefs of the beach? 

If he wanted, he could keep swimming. He wasn’t tired. He never got tired swimming. If he wanted, he could go there, to see what was beyond that point. His heart swelled.

Fifteen minutes.

His face fell. With some reluctance, he turned back and paddled to shore.


End file.
